Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8G1QPXK2KA026MMJZ62YM

The rain hammered against the windows of The Raven’s Nest, a steady, insistent rhythm mirroring the slow burn in my chest. Silas polished glasses behind the bar, the silver of his signet ring flashing in the dim light. He didn't look up when I entered, just continued his work, a practiced, economical motion. The air hung thick with the smell of gin and stale cigarettes. I found a stool at the far end, the worn leather cool against my jeans. A shadow fell across my table. “Rory?” The voice was gravelly, unfamiliar. I turned. Standing there, a little unsteady, was Liam. Not *the* Liam, not the Liam from school, but a version of him sculpted by a decade of hard living and something darker. His hair was shorter, threaded with grey at the temples. Scars, thin and white, crisscrossed his knuckles. He’d traded the nervous energy of youth for a stillness that felt… brittle. “Liam,” I replied, the word tasting like ash. He pulled out a chair and sat, the metal legs scraping against the floor. He didn’t smile. “Wow. You haven’t changed much.” “That’s not entirely true,” I said, gesturing to my work uniform. “Delivery girl. Not exactly glamorous.” “Golden Empress,” he stated, stating the obvious. “Cheung’s place. Good food.” A silence stretched between us, punctuated only by the rain and the muted murmur of conversation from the handful of other patrons. It felt like an eternity. Like wading through thick mud. “You look… weathered,” I finally offered. He tilted his head, considering me. “You look… like you’ve been carrying something.” I didn’t answer. How could I? There was a weight, a constant companion, that I’d been hauling for years. It wasn’t a physical thing, not exactly. “So,” he began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “What brings you to Silas’ little corner of Soho?” “Needed a quiet drink,” I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “It’s been a day.” “Always is, isn't it?” He took a long swallow of his whiskey. “You seemed… determined, back then. All that studying, the ambition. Law school?” “Left before I finished,” I said, the words tumbling out, a dam breaking. “Didn't fit.” “Evan?” He prompted, his eyes sharp. I pushed my glass away. “Don’t.” He didn't argue. He simply observed, a silent, assessing presence. “He wasn’t good for you,” he stated flatly. “He was… complicated,” I conceded, the familiar defenses rising. ‘Complicated’ was my go-to, my shield against unpacking the ugly truth. “Complicated often translates to abusive,” he said, his voice low. “You ran. That takes guts.” “I needed to,” I said, the phrasing clipped. “Eva helped me get away.” “Eva,” he repeated, the name tasting like a ghost. “Last I heard, she was off backpacking through Southeast Asia. Living some kind of… nomadic life.” “She is,” I confirmed. “She's happy.” Another silence settled, heavier this time. “I… I haven’t been.” He finally looked me in the eye, and the hazel depths held a flicker of something raw, something wounded. “I’ve been… moving. Jobs. Places. Trying to avoid everything.” “Trying?” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s not working,” he admitted, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Each place I go, it's always the same. The fight. The darkness." I studied his face, the lines etched around his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw. It wasn’t just the tattoos snaking across his arms, the signs of a life lived on the wrong side of the law. It was something deeper, something that resonated with the echoes of my own past. “You look like you’ve been fighting a war,” I said, my voice softer now. He didn’t deny it. He just nodded, his eyes fixed on the rain-streaked windows. “It doesn’t end. It just… changes shape.” “What happened?” The question hung in the air, a fragile plea for understanding. He hesitated, his hands clenching around the glass. “Let’s just say Prague wasn't a vacation. MI6… they didn’t appreciate my methods.” He paused, taking a deep breath. "A sting operation went sideways. Lost a lot of good people. Myself included." He referred to the limp with a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his leg. "Silas helped me when I left," he said. "He doesn't ask questions, just offers a drink and a quiet corner." “Silas?” I knew him from the bar, a solitary figure with a reputation for discretion. I’d occasionally seen him talking to Liam, brief, guarded exchanges. “He’s a good listener," Liam said, a rare, almost vulnerable expression crossing his face. "He reminds me that sometimes, the only victory is surviving the night." “I always thought you were… different,” I said, the words surprising even myself. “Ambitious. Focused.” “That was a performance,” he said, a sardonic twist to his lips. “A mask I wore to keep people at arm’s length. Learned the hard way that trust is a luxury I can’t afford.” The rain intensified, drumming against the glass like a frantic heartbeat. I looked around the bar, at the shadowy figures huddled in booths, at Silas polishing glasses with a practiced precision. It was a sanctuary, a place where secrets were traded and lives were lived in the margins. “You ever think about… what could have been?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the rain. I considered the question, a tangle of memories and regrets. There were so many ‘what ifs’ swirling within me, ghosts of paths not taken, of choices made in the heat of the moment. But with Liam, the regret felt sharper, more immediate, the wound more recent. “Sometimes,” I admitted, my voice low. “I wonder about Cardiff. About school.” "Did you ever go back?" "Not really. Not after...everything." He took another drink, his gaze distant. “I tried to find Eva once,” he said, his voice strained. “Used some contacts. Found her… okay. She’s built a life. A good one, apparently. Happy. I left a message. Didn’t expect a response.” He looked up at me, a flicker of something akin to pain in his eyes. "It didn't change anything." “It’s not your fault,” I said, instinctively. “You can’t force anyone to… fit back into your life.” “Maybe,” he conceded. “Or maybe I just wasn’t worth the effort.” The silence returned, heavier than before, laden with unspoken accusations and the crushing weight of time. I reached across the table and gently touched his hand. He didn’t pull away. “It’s raining hard,” I observed, attempting to lighten the mood. He nodded, his gaze still fixed on the rain. “It always seems to rain when we run into each other.” "Or when we remember," I said, the words catching in my throat. He finally met my gaze, his eyes shadowed with a sorrow that mirrored my own. “Let’s just… not talk about it,” he said, his voice firm, determined. “Let’s just have a drink.” And for a moment, suspended in the dim light of The Raven’s Nest, surrounded by the relentless drumming of the rain, I understood. Some things were better left unsaid, some wounds were too deep to heal. We were strangers now, irrevocably shaped by the choices we’d made, the paths we’d taken. Silas placed a fresh whiskey in front of Liam. He raised his glass in a silent toast, then turned back to the bar, resuming his work with a quiet efficiency. The rain continued to fall, washing against the windows, a constant reminder of the relentless passage of time, and the inescapable truth that some encounters, no matter how unexpected, simply left you feeling… colder.